


Side Stories

by shoesoftennis



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Compulsive Heteronormativity, Dirty Talk, Fluff, High School AU, Light Spanking, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other relationships and tags will be added later, Pirate AU, Western AU, hope the portrayals are okay, implied sex, more terrible attempts at humor, senior prom, some racism, terrible attempts at humor, there's a puppy in chapter two
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-09 23:23:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11115066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoesoftennis/pseuds/shoesoftennis
Summary: Going to be a set of drabbles and short fics i wind up writing on a whim





	1. The Dragon Tames the Pirate (Mature)

A heavy haze hung in the air, sweet-smelling and warm. It settled like a blanket over Shimada Hanzo’s body, and as he awoke, he found himself drowsy though not as exhausted as he’d been after Jesse McCree had let him rest a few hours ago. He saw Jesse standing over his oaken desk, smoking a cigar. It hung languidly from his plush lips and gave off the most calming aroma Hanzo had ever known.

When he shifted to curl the bedsheets closer around him, he felt his hole twitch, still gaping from their most recent, glorious lovemaking. He groaned softly. That caught Jesse’s attention.

“Hanzo,” Jesse said with a smile, “it’s still hours before dawn. Go back to sleep, sugar.”

Hanzo blinked slowly. “But you’re not sleeping.”

A chuckle fluttered from Jesse’s lips, and he gave Hanzo a roguish grin, his eyes tired yet still dangerous. “Observant, aren’t you?” he said. “I’m plotting our course for tomorrow. Don’t worry about me, I’ll come to bed soon.”

“Will you?” Hanzo mumbled sardonically. He nuzzled his pillow, his thighs aching pleasantly when he moved. “Jesse, I think you gave me some more bruises.”

“Oh yeah, I did. You should see your neck.”

Hanzo let out a breathless laugh and reached up to touch the many tender spots on his skin, finding the most prominent one near his Adam’s apple. “Oh,” he mused. He dragged his fingers from his jaw, down his neck, and over the slope of his thick shoulder. Jesse didn’t – and never had – left any place untouched. He could still feel the pirate captain’s expert mouth take Hanzo’s bottom lip in with his tongue and scrape it firmly between his teeth. Could still feel Jesse’s palms chafing over Hanzo’s muscular thighs, squeezing and kneading until Hanzo whimpered with need.

Soft, cigar-laced breath puffed over Hanzo’s cheeks, and he blinked up to see Jesse leaning over him, smirking wolfishly. “What’s that yer daydreamin’ about, darlin’?” he growled, voice like rolling thunder. His hand stroked over Hanzo’s chest with palpable longing sewn into every movement. “Are you dreamin’ about me? The way I touched you, made you mine? You like that, don’t you? Yeah, you like havin’ my body pressed against yours, pinning you down until yer helpless to do anything but scream and beg for me to let you cum.”

Shuddering, Hanzo knitted his fingers together behind Jesse’ neck. “Ah, Jesse…” he gasped. “Please don’t do that. You’re tired, and you need to sleep. Lay down.”  
He tried his hardest to sit up and push Jesse down, but his lover strained against his efforts. He chuckled and kissed Hanzo’s temple. “Now, now, none of that,” Jesse said. “I’m captain, and I have a duty to get us to port.”

Hanzo huffed when Jesse stood up and went back to poring over the marked-up, worn map. “You need another one of those,” Hanzo said, pulling himself out of bed and dressing. Bending over felt oddly good, his hole still twitching softly.

“Darlin’, go back to bed. You need some sleep,” Jesse said, his eyes soft as he watched Hanzo’s body slide out of sight behind his pants and shirt. “C’mon, baby. Back to bed.”  


“Like hell I’m going to do that,” Hanzo snapped. He ran a hand through his loose, dark hair then pulled it into a tight bun with the band laying on the bedside table.

Jesse held up his hands, knowing he couldn’t stop his boyfriend from doing anything he wanted to do. “Fine by me,” he said.

“I will not sleep until you do.” Hanzo crossed his arms firmly over his chest.

Rolling his neck, Jesse thought about what he could do. He did need to plot the course, but he was exhausted. After all, it took a lot out of him to dominate Hanzo because he was such an unsettling power bottom what with his intense, near black eyes and the judgement simmering below his irises. Oh well, Jesse enjoyed it. He enjoyed Hanzo with his shapely middle, slim yet muscular, and big, jiggly thighs that could crush Jesse as he licked and sucked at Hanzo’s engorged cock if the archer chose to end his lover’s life so cruelly.

Finally, he held up his hands in surrender. “I should be the one bossing you around, princess,” Jesse said with a tired grin. “I’m the one who kidnapped you for ransom.”

“You act as if I did not put up a fight.” Hanzo gave him a pointed look.

“Yer right, yer right,” Jesse conceded. “I’ll go to bed.”

He tugged off his pants and crawled under the blankets, nearly falling asleep when his head hit the pillow. His eyelids flickered, and he glanced back at Hanzo. “Join me?” he pleaded, his voice so unlike that of the fierce pirate captain the world knew him to be.

“Of course,” Hanzo said. “When we arrive at port, I would like to find more poppies. I enjoy the powder they make from those flowers.”

Jesse chuckled, nudging his head against Hanzo’s firm, strong chest. He kissed the dragon that twined along his lover’s pec and up to his shoulder and closed his eyes, falling asleep almost immediately.

With a loosened breath, Hanzo stroked Jesse’s hair and closed his own eyes, savoring the unusual warmth Jesse gave off. Soon, he felt as if he did not need any blankets, but just as soon as he thought that, he fell fast asleep.


	2. A New Friend (Teen and Up)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reaper and Widowmaker find a puppy and bring it back to Sombra (definitely crack)

Sombra couldn’t believe her eyes when her boss – her cloaked in darkness, I Love Hot Topic, grouchy as shit boss – came in with a puppy curled in his amorphous arms. “What the hell?” she said, scurrying over to watch as the puppy wriggled and strained towards her with a happy bark. It nearly jumped into her arms to press its paws to her chest and lick at her cheeks and chin. “Where did you find him? _Hola, perro lindo, donde te econtró?_ ”

            “Found him sniffing around the garbage,” Reaper huffed. “Pain in my ass.”

            Widowmaker laughed, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the door. “Liar. You should have seen the way he let it lick his mask,” she said. “And he carried it like it was a newborn. Hmm, you do have feelings.”

            “Shut up.”

            Reaper stomped over to the console, flicking through the recent databases Sombra had been poring over.

            Meanwhile, Widowmaker had knelt down next to Sombra and was gently petting the hyper puppy, admiring its dark, shining coat and brown eyes. “He’s a cute one,” Sombra said. “What should we name him?”

            “We are not _naming_ him,” Reaper snarled, dramatically sweeping back toward them with his coat swishing around his ankles. “We’re dropping him off at the shelter.”

            “Oh, do we have to?” Widowmaker said. She pulled the puppy onto her lap, and it nuzzled her stomach and nipped playfully at her fingers. She stroked its silken ears and scratched at the sensitive spot on its neck. “We must name it. If we name it, Sombra, we cannot take it to the shelter.”

            Sombra grinned, looking up at Reaper defiantly. “Yeah. Let’s name him after something sweet. A churro, a donut, a cake, _something_.”

            “Oh, a little éclair,” Widowmaker cooed. “How fitting.”

            “You want to name a dog I plucked off the street _Donut_? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Reaper growled, toeing Sombra with his boot. She waved him off dismissively.

            “ _I_ want to name him éclair,” Widowmaker pressed. She watched the dog sniff around the room, his feet nearly becoming entangled in the wires dangling from row after row of computers, communication links, and other various technology Sombra needed to operate.

            Reaper huffed and swept back over to the main display. “Keep him away from the wires. We don’t want him getting electrocuted before we take him back to the shelter.”

            _“Reaper!”_ Sombra and Widowmaker both hissed, grabbing for the puppy before it ensnared itself.

            “I’m kidding.”


	3. Senior Prom (Explicit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabe and Jack are attending their senior prom. Well, they're spending it in the bathroom, but at least they made it.

Jack can’t breathe. Not with three of Gabriel’s fingers deep in his twitching ass and that wicked mouth flicking its tongue over Jack’s exposed nipple. No, he can’t even _think_. He leans his head against the cold bathroom wall, recalling distantly that it’s gross as all hell, but he can’t bring himself to care. “Fuck,” he groans, carding his fingers through his date’s hair. “Fuck, Gabe–”

            “Patience, sunshine,” Gabriel chuckles. He brushes his middle finger against his boyfriend’s puckering prostate, giving Jack’s nipple a soft, teasing nibble then a harsh bite. Jack arches off the wall, panting and moaning out curse words as his long fingers tremble through Gabe’s curly, dark locks. “Damn needy bitch.”

            Jack whimpers. “Gabe, I…” he begins, but Gabriel gives his ass a firm smack. He shuts up and blinks down at his lover. “What?”

            “You talk too goddamn much.”

            “Just like you?”

            Another smack to the ass has Jack grinning even through his lusty stupor. But the smugness disappears when Gabriel’s fingers thrust up into his prostate again, all three this time. He moans and hums with approval, trying to keep quiet for their own sakes and the kids dancing just a few yards away in the gym. It's their senior prom – the last dance they’ll ever probably have fun at. Next it'll be raves, strip clubs, Las Vegas. Gabe wants to go to Las Vegas badly if just to see all the flashing neon signs and to drive down the strip with his arm hanging out of the car window, cigarette in one hand and beer in the other. He’s told Jack this a thousand times. “And you’re driving, Jackie. Yeah, you’re haloed in the evening sun, a gorgeous, dopey grin on your face. My golden boy, all mine,” he always ends with, the last part a wistful purr in Jack’s ear.

            “Jackie?” Gabe whines. His teeth graze along the length of Jack’s clothed cock to get the attention he wants.

            “Hmm?” Jack muses. He looks down at his boyfriend’s pouty, plush lips. He wonders how long he’s been daydreaming for. “What’d I do?”

            “You started staring off into space,” Gabriel said, palming Jack’s thigh and then shuffling down to kiss it. That devilish tongue slipped out between his swollen lips and trailed saliva to the twitching, waiting cock confined in too-small boxers.

            Jack bites his bottom lip to keep from begging like he really wants to. What he wants to beg for, he actually doesn’t know – he just knows he will if given the chance. Maybe he wants Gabriel’s meaty dick in his ass, slamming into him with punishing strength. Or maybe he just wants his date’s hot mouth sucking on his tip until he can’t take it anymore. And just before he cums, Gabe will pull away, strand of pre-cum dripping from his lips as Jack’s seed dribbles out slowly, the action giving him no pleasure at all. Jack likes that, being denied things. He doesn’t want to think about why. He just wants Gabriel to do it and fuck him just how he likes. And Gabriel knows precisely how Jack likes to be taken.

            “Well then,” Jack says as he turns, hands resting on the bathroom wall as he presents his clothed ass to Gabriel. “Why don’t we make this more interesting, so I don’t accidentally destroy the mood?”

            “Cute,” Gabe mutters endearingly, obviously referring to Jack’s butt. He strokes a finger over the slight curves of his lover’s ass, enjoying the way it bounces when Jack wiggles it. “Little slut.”

            “Don’t you know it,” Jack says breathlessly. With a soft gasp, he strains closer to Gabe’s hand, hoping his boyfriend will stop messing with him and just get on with it.

            Gabe chuckles, the sound coming from deep within his chest. “I do,” he snarls in Jack’s ear. He almost rips Jack’s underwear in half trying to get it down, and Jack laughs quietly, having to help his poor boyfriend. Gabriel’s cheeks are flushed when he finally flings Jack’s boxers into one of the open stalls.

            “Aw, fuck, Gabe. Better aim next time, and it’ll fall in the toilet.”

            “Shut up, Morrison.”

            Jack laughs again but this time breathlessly. With deft fingers, Gabriel is working up Jack’s shaft, paying special attention to the uncut head oozing slick. His dick twitches, and Gabe laughs. “It’s really damn happy to see me,” he says. He smirks up at Jack, one side of his mouth ticking up maliciously as he gives Jack a vicious pump.

            “Shit!” Jack hisses. His back curves again off the wall, and he pants heavily, wishing Gabe wasn’t such a fucking tease. “Get on with it, asshole.”

            “You want me to do your asshole, is that what you said?” Gabe taunts, cupping his ear.

            Jack moans. He stares down at Gabriel, wondering how he found himself such a beautiful, hardy man with a big-ass control complex. “We don’t have all night. Someone’s gotta use the bathroom eventually,” he says.

            “Fine,” Gabe huffs. For a moment though, he still stays crouched by Jack’s crotch as if he’s sad to leave it.

            “C’mon. Getting to stick your dick in me is better, isn’t it?” Jack says. He takes Gabe’s hand, feeling how warm and callused it is and wanting it clutching his waist like a vice. “Fuck me, dammit. Tired of waiting.”

            Gabe admires the light dusting of curves Jack has before shrugging. “Did you prepare yourself before the dance?” he asks. His voice is careful, measured. Jack blushes when he hears it, knowing Gabe really cares about him and wants him safely lubricated and stretched before they start making love. In a dirty school bathroom. Never mind, Jack doesn’t call that love making.

            Still, it’s the thought that counts.

            “Yeah. A lot,” Jack answers. He’s glad he did because he was actually more partial to fixing his hair by then since it would not cooperate with him. “You felt it, half prepared me anyway. Why’re you asking?”

            “Just wanna make sure,” he says. He picks a condom out from the pocket of his pants and hurriedly takes it out, fitting it securely on his engorged member. “Ready for the best fuck of your life, Morrison?”

             “Like fuck I am,” he says and laughs softly.

            He earns a smack on the ass for that.

            Gabriel slips into him easily, and it’s perfectly comfortable thanks to the copious amount of prepping. Jack immediately constricts around Gabe’s cock, drawing out a loud moan from his partner. Heat curls low in both of their bellies. Their lewd noises slide together as Gabe begins to thrust, the movements slow and lucrative at first.

            “Fuck yes,” Jack mutters. He presses his forehead to the cold tile and grunts as Gabe sets a faster tempo – a more punishing, delicious one that echoes throughout Jack’s entire body. And Jack didn’t even have to beg for it.

            He meets Gabriel’s hips halfway sloppily, and Gabe leans against Jack’s shoulder, burying his scruffy chin into his boyfriend’s neck. “Mm… God, fuckin’ hell–nngh,” Gabe grumbles. He enjoys listening to the wet smacking sounds of his balls slapping against Jack’s ass and could care less if anyone heard at this point. Even if they might get into a whole shitload of trouble if they're caught by the wrong people. But his nerves are tingling. They remain on edge as he moves faster and faster until his core aches.

            Jack, by the time Gabe finds his prostate and continues to hit it dead on with almost every thrust, could count all the stars flashing behind his eyes if he wasn’t a drooling mess. His arms quiver as they strain to hold him up. He’s relying almost solely on Gabriel who holds his waist hard enough to bruise, and the pain anchors him to reality. He needs it especially when Gabe hits that _damn fucking spot shitshitshit–_

“I’m com-ing! Oh fuck I’m–I’m– _Gabe_!” Jack cries out hoarsely. He buries his face in the wall, beads of sweat slipping down his forehead and staining the ugly green tile.

            Gabe grunts, gripping Jack’s cock and pumping it for all its worth. “Yeah, yeah, jus’ like that. Cum for me, Jackie,” he growls into his date’s ear. “Oh damn, I’m–”

            With a groan, Gabe cums and slings one arm around Jack’s chest to hold him up. “Damn, Jackie…” he pants, slowly pulling out. Jack whimpers at the loss of his boyfriend’s member. “You really know how to take a man.”

            “Only you,” Jack murmurs, still breathless. He offers Gabe a spent smirk.

            “We should get back out soon,” Gabe says. He gestures to the door, to the dance happening outside of it without them.

            Jack nods but finds himself with his back pressed against the wall. “Just lemme rest first,” he pleads. “And would you get my underwear? The longer it stays there, the more I think I’m gonna get ringworm or something.”

            “Aw, c’mon,” Gabe says. He leans against the wall beside Jack, wrapping a hairy arm around him. “I did most of the work, let me rest too.”

            “Baby,” Jack says as he snuggles closer to his boyfriend.

            “Love you too, sweetheart.”


	4. All-American Quarterback (Teen and Up)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabe goes to Watchpoint High which has just recently acquired a new quarterback whose anything but ordinary. And Gabe, of course, finds himself pining over him in his own gruff way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a little bit of compulsive heteronormativity that Gabe finds himself feeling, but it's not a lot. And honestly it's just where he lives - no homophobia, just some heteronormativity

          The boys’ locker room always smelled like a combination of three things: sweat, urine, and body spray. It was nauseating to the point that Gabriel’s head spun as he put on his pants. He pressed his head against the cool locker behind him, breathing in shallowly so as to avoid any more sensory overloads.

           Dark, wet curls clung to his forehead from his lukewarm shower, and the moment he finished buttoning his pants, he brushed them back and put his beanie over them. His scalp was itchy at first, but he ignored it, shouldering his bag as the bell rung for first period.

            He hated football practice. It left him feeling sticky and gross no matter how long he spent washing himself thoroughly with the strongest-smelling cinnamon spice soap he could find at the grocery store. He’d have to get some more soon. The remnants of soap left in the bottle had had to be wrestled out this morning, and it had taken forever.

            Gabriel headed out the door, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He felt more than heard Jesse McCree shoulder in beside him as they slipped out into the hallway. “Hey, Reyes,” McCree said. He grinned at Gabe, and Gabe patted him on the back.

            “Fish,” he replied gruffly.

            “Ah, c’mon, when ya gonna stop callin’ me that?” the kid asked, his eyes growing wide and pleading. He had his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans and the position somehow highlighted his dumb ass BAMF belt even more than it was already gleaming like a light at the end of a dark tunnel. A very stupid light. One Gabe wanted to break over his knee and burn in the parking lot.

            Gabe shrugged. “When you stop wearing that belt,” he said, “and quit trying to be my friend. You’re, what, twelve?”

            McCree laughed, the sound echoing obnoxiously down the corridor. He slapped Gabe on the back, and the air whooshed out of Reyes, leaving him blinking in shock. Shit, that kid was strong. Recovering, Gabe shoved McCree into the wall. “God, what the fuck is wrong with you?” he hissed, hefting his backpack farther onto his shoulder.

            “Aw, baby, so many things,” McCree said, giving Gabe a taunting wink. He placed a hand over his own crotch, walking backward so he could see Gabe’s eyes roll all the way back in his head, disgusted at McCree’s subpar attempts at flirting.

            “Gross as hell, McCree. Go to class,” Gabe said. They’d reached a fork in the hallway, and Gabe shoved McCree towards the freshman wing while he headed for the junior and senior one.

            Gabe didn’t look back even when he heard McCree’s raucous laughter, but he smiled a little. The kid was a ball of childish energy that Gabe admired, and Gabe really did like him, but he was just annoying. Like a gnat that just won’t fucking go away. You want to swat at it until it finally leaves you alone, but McCree would never go away. Gabe knew that. He still tried to brush Jesse off though but somewhere deep in his heart, he hoped Jesse would stay and put up with him. Because despite Gabe’s rugged good looks and winning muscular stature, he had a personality most people found… abrasive. Stand-offish. Terrifying. He didn’t have many friends. Nobody messed with him, he just was a loner.

            A lone wolf.

            Which would be cool if he was one of those guys from those YA romance books where a new girl moves to town, and she catches his eye, and they end up running around on his motorcycle and drinking cherry limeades or some romantic kinda shit. He didn’t really know. And there was another problem with that whole fantasy. He didn’t like girls _._ They were fine as friends, but he’d had sex with them before and just never found it enjoyable. It was okay, he guessed, he just would rather… not. Which he supposed made him gay.

            “Hey, Reyes, wait up!”

            Gay. Yep, very gay.

            Gabe turned and found himself face-to-nose with Jack Morrison, the gorgeous new quarterback at Watchpoint High. A shadow of blond stubble ran across Jack’s hard-cut jaw and peach fuzz wobbled under his nose as his mouth moved. Gabe realized Jack was talking to him, and he blinked. “What?” he said, tongue thick in his mouth.

            “Just wanted to say you’re a really damn good tight-end,” Morrison said, grinning with unnaturally white teeth. Gabe expected them to sparkle with all-American quarterback flair, but they didn’t. Just stayed rooted in Jack’s perfect skull.

            _Dammit dammit dammit, stop looking at his teeth!_ Gabe thought as he smiled back, the tug of his lips oddly predator-like. _Shit shit fucking shit._

            “Thanks,” he said. “You’re… a good quarterback.”

            Morrison had moved to town this year and guaranteed his spot on the team when he’d thrown a perfect pass to Ana, their best receiver, to the sixty-five-yard line from the opposite end zone. Unheard of for a high school kid. Everyone had been impressed, especially Gabe because not only was Jack talented, he was also smoking hot.

            “A compliment, huh? Ya don’t give those out much, do ya, Reyes?” Jack said. He started walking, and Gabe’s legs followed him of their own accord. Not that he minded. God, he could stare at that face for hours – he could even stare at Morrison’s flat white butt for longer than really necessary. He could stare at any part of the quarterback and feel accomplished for even catching a glimpse. He had found himself doing so on several occasions in the locker room, seeing a flash of plump pecs, a nice set of abs, a muscular thigh. He had yet to see Morrison’s dick, but no one could have everything. He had forced himself not to go around actively ogling at Morrison’s body because he didn’t know if Jack wanted that kind of attention. Did Jack even like guys? Would he like Gabe even if he did? God, how high were his standards?

            Gabe cleared his throat before replying, “Flattery, Morrison, is a dangerous game. People might want to hang out with you and – God forbid – become your friend if ya pay ‘em too much attention.”

            Jack laughed, his head tipping back. It didn’t echo like McCree’s but instead poured over Gabe and warmed him. His heart fluttered – fucking _fluttered_ – and he gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. His hands shook, and his palms began to profusely sweat. He wiped them on his jeans.

            “God forbid,” Jack said, grinning. “But hey, if you ever want a friend or just someone to hang with, hit me up. I’ve wanted to catch a ride on your bike ever since I saw it in the parking lot my first day here.”

            Gabe’s heart stopped. He felt like he was swimming through syrup, blood rushing to his ears and head whirring. “You sure it was my bike?” he asked. They had passed Gabe’s classroom, and the late bell was going to ring soon, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care when he was thinking of Jack’s arms wrapped firmly around his stomach, his chin pressed against Gabe’s shoulder. Bright golden sunshine spinning gold into Jack’s blond hair, wind whipping it back and forth. Those ocean blue eyes taking in the country as they whizz by the farms just outside of town. It’s a beautiful scene, but it was gone just as quickly as it had come, leaving Gabe with a longing deep in his soul.

            “Sure as I’m sure you’ve been starin’ at me in the locker room for the past two months. Not that I blame you,” Jack said, his voice low.

            When had they stopped walking? Gabe couldn’t remember. He was just standing in the hallway now, back as good as pressed against the wall. Christ, he was trapped. Morrison had trapped him, and he couldn’t breathe because Jack was _so close_. Their legs were almost touching, their chests brushing gently together when they exhaled at the same time.

            “You got no proof,” Gabe growled, his eyes meeting Jack’s. Those blue eyes were mischievous, not goading. Not belligerent. Gabe nearly relaxed until Jack spoke again,

            “I’ve been staring at you too.”

            Gabe’s heart stopped for good. Heat zipped through his body from his head to his toes, pooling in his groin. He was pleasantly buzzing, and he swallowed tightly. His throat constricted, his heart pressing against his Adam’s apple when Jack leaned in. He leaned in too, but they didn’t kiss. Just stayed there, both unsure of what to do next.

            Gabe was the first to pull away. He smacked Jack on the ass as he walked by, trying to hide his obvious apprehension. “Date after afternoon practice?” he murmured in Jack’s ear.

            “My phone number,” Jack said, his breathing faster, rushing out of him like a cyclone. “I forgot to give it to you. But yes, date. Today.”

            He slipped a crumpled up ball of paper into Gabe’s hand, and they shared one last look before going their separate ways.

            Gabe hadn’t heard the late bell ring, but when he headed into the classroom, the teacher gave him a harsh look. He offered an apologetic wave and walked to his seat, legs shaky. He nearly fell into his chair, head tilting back until he was looking up at the ceiling. He took a deep breath, the welcome air cooling his insides, and traced a water stain on the ceiling with his eyes to calm his frayed nerves. He was going on a date with Jack Morrison. Jack _fucking_ Morrison who had been pining after Gabe just like Gabe had been pining after him. _That_ was the really hard part to comprehend. Gabe knew he was impressive but not impressive enough to interest someone like the golden quarterback who was on his way toward homecoming stardom, a senior prom king win, and a football scholarship.

            Smirking in self triumph, Gabe unfolded the scrunched piece of paper crushed in his hand as the teacher was taking roll. He hurriedly added Jack as a contact, his hands shaking as he texted him. It had all happened so fast, a whirlwind of excitement with Jack’s body nearly pinning his to the wall and his lips so goddamn close. Close enough to brush against and lick and bite and suck until Jack moaned. God, he probably had the best moans.

            Gabe’s smirk grew at the thought, and a faint blush bloomed over his cheeks. He almost wanted to tell someone – anyone. Even McCree as annoying as the kid was. He could just see himself going up to the kid at lunch and saying in way of greeting, _Guess who scored a football prince for a boyfriend?_

And the look on McCree’s face was priceless.


	5. The Gentleman Bandit (Teen and Up)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June 7, 1870 - Hanzo Shimada moved to the United States and has learned it isn't all it's cracked up to be. He finds himself thoroughly enjoying the company of a criminal holding him at gunpoint more than any of the other passengers on the train out of Los Angeles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really know how to rate this one because there's just a little bit of violence and some racism, but I just did Teen just in case. And sorry for any historical discrepancies, I'm not always the best at quick research. Oh, and thank you to everyone who has read these little oneshots!! It means a whole lot to me, so thank you! Also my girlfriend gave me this idea, she's great at coming up with them

_Los Angeles, California_

_June 7, 1870_

 

           The Transcontinental Railroad had just been finished last year, the ceremonial golden spike driven into the ground at Promontory Summit in the Utah Territory on May 10, ending all the hard work of worn-ragged Chinese and Irish immigrants. They would now be dispersed and left jobless, their blood on the gleaming new tracks worth nothing at all.

            The thought of such dishonor must have brought on Hanzo’s headaches somehow. He knew of the treatment those workers had received. Their bones had been broken as punishment and never properly set; their insides exposed to agonizing diseases like dysentery; their pay beyond abysmal, and Hanzo knew this was the kind of discrimination that plagued the United States against immigrants like him. He’d been granted a small mercy though because he was from Japan, not China or Ireland, but that had proved less helpful than he’d originally hoped. And his expectations had not been high.

            It had been an uphill battle to secure a spot in the first class train car he rode in now. When he had tried to purchase the ticket a week ago, the teller had not trusted that his money was real. She had called in her manager and asked him to verify it. Hanzo had been furious, telling them over and over that it was real American money. And then, after they had finally decided to give him a ticket after confirming there were no more wealthy white people in line, the conductor on the train had nearly given up Hanzo’s seat to a middle-aged couple who had refused to speak or even look at each other. The uncomfortable bed in the sleeping car felt like a mediocre reward for the injustices he’d endured.

            And his roaring headache felt like unjust comeuppance.

            Red and yellow stars burst behind his eyelids, blood pounding in his throat. His head crashed like ocean waves on shore during a monsoon, and every little sound from the footsteps in the hall to the bugs hitting the window mimicked sharp raindrops pelting his skull and prickling the skin on his arms. He groaned in the darkness of his cabin, his arm thrown across his face, nose nestled in the crook of his elbow. _I hate trains,_ he thought, squeezing his eyes shut tighter as a loud voice flooded the hallway. It was garbled – not to mention heavily accented – and Hanzo couldn’t make out the words through the walls of his room. Some he could piece together like _good_ and _safe_ , but then he heard something that sounded like _how D_. It didn’t make any sense. But he really didn’t care at the moment.

            Darkness encroached, and he felt like if he opened his eyes, he wouldn’t be able to see anything. He’d be blind, groping for the door handle and panicking in everlasting shadow. So he kept his eyes screwed shut.

            Until the headache ebbed into a dull but permeating ache. He could move and open his eyes, but he still didn’t want to leave his room. What made him leave, though, was the loud gunshot coming from the next car. He stumbled out of his room and heaved forward, latching onto the doorknob and pulling the door open. With strands of hair whipping his face, he rushed to the other car, ripped that door open too, and found himself staring at the oddest sight he’d ever seen.

“What the hell…” he muttered.

            A man with a pistol stood behind the shuddering conductor, pointing the barrel at his back. The robber smiled graciously at Hanzo as he came in. He was about Hanzo’s age and wore a serape wrapped around his chest, a brand new hat on his head, and a freshly lit cigar dangled from his lips. He put the matchbox back in his pocket, puffing nonchalantly on the cigar before saying, “Howdy, how are ya? Musta missed ya somehow. Where ya been hidin’, darlin’?”

            So this was the man Hanzo had heard in the hallway, and he’d said _howdy_ by way of greeting. And in the time Hanzo had been nearly blind with agony, this robber had tied up all the first class passengers and gagged them with ropes, not to mention shot a hole in the roof most likely to quiet the conductor who had probably tried to call for help. The passengers stared at Hanzo now with wild, frightened eyes as if they were all on the menu for tonight’s dinner.

            “Who are you?” Hanzo asked gruffly. He didn’t shut the door in case this man decided to shoot at him, and Hanzo needed to make a quick escape. Though his headache began slamming against his temples again, he refused to cut off his only means of retreat.

            The man’s grin grew. He kept the barrel of his gun pressed firmly against the conductor’s back, but he bowed deeply. “Call me Deadeye, li’l darlin’,” he said. “And who might you be? Yer a fancy fella with yer nice suit ‘n’ glossy hair.”

            Hanzo had expected some slur about his eyes or his race (he honestly thought this Deadeye would mistake him for Chinese), but the bandit said nothing about either. He was oddly courteous – more so than any of the passengers he’d detained. “That is not your real name,” Hanzo said, eyeing Deadeye’s free hand that fiddled with his cigar. “Deadeye is not your real name.”

            “Nah, course not,” the robber said, winking at Hanzo. “I ain’t in the business-a bein’ honest, so I ain’t gonna give my real name.”

            “Why are you here?” Hanzo pressed. His legs tensed, ready to flee if Deadeye suddenly changed his mind about this whole gentleman act and decided murdering Hanzo was a better option.

            Deadeye laughed and pointed at a loose floorboard. “That,” he said, eyeing it hungrily then gesturing at the terrified conductor. “This man here’s got a whole buncha money on board. Transportin’ it to the US Treasury. I’m gonna get me a cut of it.”

            “An honest answer,” Hanzo said. The harsh wind at his back was beginning to cut through his shirt, and his headache had grown worse. Pinpricks of pain – like shards of glass – scraped at the backs of his eyes. But he could not shut the door. If he did… Oh, who was he kidding? He wouldn’t be able to escape anyway, not with his headache. What did it matter?

            “Now baby, would ya mind shuttin’ the door? Feel like I’m shoutin’,” Deadeye said, giving Hanzo a soft smile.

            When Hanzo did not move to comply, Deadeye sighed and wrapped a rope around the conductor’s wrists before he could protest. Hanzo could see Deadeye murmur something in the ear of his captive, and that smile on his face offered a silent apology. What kind of robber was this man?

            Deadeye turned after setting the conductor down and tying his ankles, the handgun still held firmly in the criminal’s hand. Hanzo was so taken with the gentle way Deadeye restrained the conductor that he didn’t make a move to take him down. Instead, he just stared like an idiot as Deadeye stamped out his cigar. He really had no idea what was happening beyond the fact that there was an armed man with hostages standing before him.

            The robber walked over to Hanzo. “Move yer backside please, li’l darlin’,” he said. He put an arm around Hanzo’s waist and pulled him away from the door, letting it swing shut, but Deadeye stopped it before it could bang against the jamb. He closed it quietly and let go of Hanzo whose headache returned to a dull drumming immediately. And whose knee found Deadeye’s gut with precise ease.

            Deadeye stumbled back, surprise flickering in his deep brown eyes. They reminded Hanzo of melted chocolate, and it shocked him to realize he found the robber handsome. It also was a shock to realize he cared what a robber looked like. He gritted his teeth, wishing he’d brought one of the weapons he’d smuggled onto the train, a habit formed long ago when he’d been a part of his father’s clan.

            But even weaponless, Hanzo knew what to do. He landed a swift kick to Deadeye’s cheek, catching it loosely because he had managed to halfway dodge it.

            But Deadeye still landed on his back, groaning and rubbing his jaw.

            To Hanzo’s surprise, the criminal rolled away from Hanzo’s attempt at a mount and sprung to his feet. He leveled his gun swiftly at Hanzo’s head, licking blood from the corner of his mouth. “Yer good,” he said, breathing labored.

            “You are quick,” Hanzo replied. “I did not expect that given your body weight.”

            “Aw, honey, I’m in better shape than ya think,” he chuckled. He didn’t take his eyes from Hanzo but reached behind his back to produce another length of rope. “Now I’m real sorry ‘bout this, darlin’, but I gotta. Yer kinda dangerous.”

            Hanzo glanced from the rope to Deadeye then back again and allowed a smirk to twist his lips. “I will accept your backhanded compliment,” he said.

            “Ain’t backhanded at all,” Deadeye said, grinning. “Mighta liked you kickin’ me ‘round if I wasn’t on the job.” He slipped forward, the gun pressing tenderly against Hanzo’s gut as he caught both of Hanzo’s wrists in one big hand and tied him firmly. “That too tight?”

            Deadeye’s warm, brown eyes met Hanzo’s, and he shook his head. “You are eerily kind for a bandit,” Hanzo mused. He kneed Deadeye again without any hope of escape – simply revenge. “That is for tying me up.”

            “Yep, deserved that,” Deadeye gasped. He grasped his crotch, his cheeks red and his lips pursed. He mouthed obscenities and held onto Hanzo for support; Hanzo let him if only to see how well his revenge had worked.

            “You did.”

            Deadeye moved a step back once he had recovered, and he swept Hanzo up into his arms. “Don’t worry, darlin’, just gonna put ya down here,” he said and placed his new captive in the corner of the train car.

            A blush formed over Hanzo’s cheeks. He had always enjoyed a man’s touch more than a woman’s, and he found himself liking the rough callouses on Deadeye’s hands, feeling them chafe his skin lightly through his pants. “I hope you will untie me soon,” Hanzo said, quirking an eyebrow at the bandit.

            With a flourish, the robber bowed again and winked at Hanzo. “I’ll do it myself, just gimme a minute,” he said.

            He ambled back over to the conductor, obviously in no hurry at all. He asked the man for a code to the safe under the floorboards, and the conductor readily spouted it off, the numbers spilling like a waterfall from his trembling lips. Hanzo rolled his eyes. _He won’t shoot you,_ he thought, wondering if Deadeye had actually ever shot anyone in his life.

            Deadeye wasted no time in opening the safe and stuffing the money into a sack he tied off with a leather strap and hooked to his belt. “Well, it’s been nice meetin’ y’all,” he said cordially, grinning at all the terrified first class passengers. They stared back at him in awed silence, mouths gaping open and catching flies.

            “It has been a slightly less pleasurable experience meeting you,” Hanzo called out, “but I suppose not the worst.” He gave Deadeye a smirk and held out his wrist. “You promised.”

            “That I did,” the bandit said, returning the smirk. He plucked a knife from his belt and cut the ropes, keeping a firm grasp on Hanzo’s wrists. He leaned forward and breathed softly into Hanzo’s ear, “Jesse.”

            “Then why call yourself Deadeye? There are a thousand Jesses in America,” Hanzo murmured back. The robber smelled of cigar smoke and the outdoors, the musky, heady scent imprinted in Hanzo’s mind as he took a deep breath and sighed through his nose.

            Shrugging, Deadeye pulled away. “Publicity,” he said.

            “You want people to know you are a criminal?” Hanzo said. He experimentally tugged against Jesse’s grip, but it was like an iron clasp.

            Jesse shrugged again. “I dunno. Guess it makes the job more fun. Somethin’ like that.”

            “I do not understand.”

            “Honestly me neither.”

            They both chuckled.

            “You do this because you cannot find work?”

            Jesse wouldn’t meet Hanzo’s eyes. Instead, he let his gaze wander to the floorboard he had just pulled up and haphazardly put back. “I can,” he said. “This is just easier.”

            “Easier than what? Can you not face someone back home?” Hanzo asked calmly. He knew what that was like – he knew all too well. Shame boiled in his stomach, his memories twisting until they created the image of Genji, his face smeared with blood and his body contorted from so many broken bones. Shattered over the floor of the castle – the castle that had raised him, that he and Hanzo had played together in, that…

            Hanzo gulped and brought himself back to reality, noticing the haunted look piercing Jesse’s eyes. “I’m no burden if that’s what yer askin’,” he murmured, smiled and then got up. He released Hanzo’s wrists, and the passenger rubbed them mechanically. Jesse hadn’t hurt him, and for that, he was grateful. Though being bound and helpless whilst a robbery played out before his eyes had been demeaning, he was glad it had happened to a bunch of racists too rather than solely him. America was racist, and the government was no better. Hanzo had learned this early on, so the money stolen from the safe was of no concern to him.

            “Goodbye, Jesse,” Hanzo called as Jesse headed for the engine room.

            Jesse tipped his hat to Hanzo as he went through the doorway, shouting back, “We’ll meet again soon.”

            The train made an unplanned stop in the middle of nowhere, and Hanzo and all the first class passengers watched as the most well-behaved robber ever conceived got off the train and climbed onto a horse serenely waiting for him in the desert. “Well, I’ll be,” someone murmured.

            Hanzo smiled. He admired Jesse’s planning and maybe a little bit more of him if the view of Jesse’s ass had anything to contribute.


End file.
